That's Not Natural

Here's a dam:

(Image from: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Hoover_dam_from_air.jpg)

Here's another one:

(Image from: http://www.newswise.com/articles/beavers-dam-good-for-songbirds)

What differentiates the two? There are some obvious answers, like scale and building materials. There is, however, another answer that I think many people would give, and which I would argue isn't actually correct: one of these is natural and the other is not. 

I disagree. I think they're both natural. In fact, in one sense, everything is natural. It is not possible for anything to be unnatural, because if it were, it wouldn't exist. Of course, this isn't, strictly speaking, the most accurate definition. But the nuance takes some time to explain. In the end, I want my reader to walk away thinking, "it's not useful to label things as natural or unnatural based solely on my gut reaction."

Wait, before you object, hear me out. This is initially going to sound like splitting hairs, but I think there are some very good reasons to reconsider our assumptions about what is natural and what is not. We often make judgements on whether something is good or bad based on snap assessments of whether or not that thing seems natural. But this is not a precise way of thinking, and doesn't let us understand the real reason something is "good" or "bad." If we want to be able to judge the value of our own behaviors, let us do it on a more solid understanding of the thing itself, not whether we feel that it's either natural or unnatural. It's too easy to get trapped in circular reasoning with this sort of thing. Why is this good? It's natural. What makes it natural? It feels good. What makes it feel good? It's so natural.

...

Most dictionary definitions of the word, "natural," include something like, "not caused or created by humans." While it is unarguably true that there exists "that which humans created and that which we did not," this definition creates a nice, neat, clean, and completely wrong-headed separation between humanity and nature. 

This way of thinking probably has numerous origins, such as certain religious dogmas, the lengths that human beings specifically and (seemingly) consciously manipulate our surroundings to make ourselves physically removed/remote/insulated/safe from them, and undoubtedly, the way our brains are wired to perceive the world. In other words, to some extent, it's possible that we can't help but automatically see ourselves as separate from the "natural" world. We see two spheres of existence: the natural, and the human (or, by definition, the unnatural). Them and us. Like us and not. 

The truth, of course, is that we are as much a part of nature, and as connected to it, as anything else on the planet. This seems childishly obvious, but it's easy to forget, especially if you happen to live in one of our concrete jungles and you never really spend time away from the city. Our particular development path, the western development path, lends itself to a very specific type of remoteness, where we're all several steps removed from the natural processes on which we rely. I don't necessarily see this as a problem, and this post is decidedly NOT about a need to "tear down civilization," but I do want to point out how the way we live influences our perception of what is natural. It's easier to feel like we're separate from the natural world when we're so far away from it in so many ways. 

The point is that the dictionary is insufficient when it comes to thinking about natural and unnatural. 

Back to the dams.

The beaver dam is natural. No arguments there. 

What about the Hoover Dam? Not natural? Why not? 

Well, because humans created it. Because of the scale. Because it fundamentally throws the entire surrounding ecosystem into a radically different equilibrium, and probably destroys a bunch of existing ecological niches in the process. These statements are all true, but I don't think that they make the Hoover Dam unnatural.

First, the existence of humans, the fact that we're here, is natural. We came to exist as a product of the same processes that created everything else. If you disagree with that assertion, then you may as well stop reading. 

The point is that some things that people do are considered natural, even though this wouldn't fit the dictionary definition of the word. I don't think that there's anything fundamentally unnatural with, say, building shelter. Animals do it all the time. Would a lean-to seem unnatural? What about a house in the suburbs? Does one seem more natural than the other? 

Here are the only differences between a lean-to and a house, between a beaver dam and the Hoover Dam: size, complexity, and the scale of the effects on the surrounding environment. It doesn't make sense to say that a behavior becomes unnatural when it passes a certain threshold in scale, nor do I think it makes sense to assert that some of our behaviors are natural and some are not. In the same way that a fox does what a fox does, humans do what humans do. Sure, the magnitude of the repercussions from our behavior is much greater, but that doesn't make our behavior unnatural. In summary, the simple fact of being human is not enough to make our behavior unnatural.

To address the topic of scale, consider the Gros Ventre landslide area near Jackson Hole. In the picture below, that enormous brown gash in the mountainside is where fifty million cubic yards of earth and rocks and trees used to reside. In 1925, due to heavy precipitation, that entire area relocated. Human action was in no way involved. I was there last summer, and you can still see where all that material used to be. The rubble blankets a gigantic area across the valley, even reaching up the slopes of the mountain opposite.  

(Image from: http://www.nps.gov/grte/images/20091204133959.jpg)

The landslide created what are now called the Slide Lakes, seen in the image below. This picture was taken further up the valley from the picture above, facing the opposite direction. You can sort of make out the brown slide area stretching across the left side of the picture. Prior to the slide, the Gros Ventre river flowed unobstructed through the valley. I tried to find flow-rate data to give some idea of the river's size, but it wasn't available. As a very very very rough estimate, it's about 4 times the size of Boulder Creek during the spring runoff. 

   

(Image from: http://www.jacksonholenet.com/lakes_rivers_falls/slide_lakes.php)

I don't know anyone who would argue that this landslide was unnatural, but the scale of the effects on the environment certainly rival that of many man-made dams. Clearly, it's not enough to argue that we affect the environment in a much bigger way than it would otherwise be affected if humans didn't exist. 

Another potential way to define "unnatural" is to say that it throws off pre-existing equilibria. In response, natural processes recalibrate their equilibriums constantly; this happens whether humans are around or not. 

So this leads us perhaps to the crux of the argument: would something happen if we took humans out of the equation? I think that many people like to use this question as the basic litmus test of naturalness. But if you agree that the existence of humans is natural, then this question is a logical fallacy. As long as the existence of humans is as natural as the existence of foxes (or what have you), then it doesn't make sense to ask that question. For example, we wouldn't ask, "would such-and-such still be natural if foxes didn't exist?" It's a moot point, because we automatically assume that since foxes are part of the "natural world," everything a fox does is natural. 

But wait. Let's think about this a little more deeply.

To be fair, there's a little leeway here. If a fox started trying to survive by eating only grass seed, then we might say that it was behaving "unnaturally." But what does that mean? Only that it was behaving in a way that is 1) inconsistent with what we expect based on observing the behavior of other foxes, and 2) detrimental to its own interests, that is, its own survival.

A HA! Here is the one place where I think it's acceptable to apply the word, "unnatural." 

Something is unnatural only if it's a self-inflicted action that directly inhibits our own ability to survive, and produces effects that cannot be mitigated/counteracted by reaching some new equilibrium.

But here's the kicker: such an action will, inevitably, stop. It literally cannot continue in the long run. The environment will force it to stop. This is why we so rarely see anything happening in nature that we'd characterize as "unnatural." Natural selection/environmental pressures stamped it out before we could notice. In this way, in the long run, everything that exists is natural, because if it weren't, it would be forced to end. 

This is the only reliable way to gauge what is unnatural, but we automatically apply the term to a wide range of things that don't, in my opinion, deserved to be labeled as such. 

The main problem I see is that we're not very good at deciding which of our behaviors are fundamentally "ok," or "good" (for our survival), and which are "not ok," or "bad." There are probably numerous things we do that we think are good, natural, and healthy (but aren't), and vice versa. I'm not sure that most people would call the process of synthesizing penicillin and putting it into little plastic pills "natural," but on the whole, that practice seems pretty useful for our survival. 

To truly know whether we're enhancing our nest or fouling it, sometimes it's not enough to go with our gut feelings and call things natural or unnatural. Instead, we must do our best to realize how little we understand of the complexities of our environment, and wait to pass judgement until we understand the degree to which environmental equilibria will shift given a certain action, and whether we're prepared to accept (or even able to survive) the consequences of that shift.

Wasn't High, Just Tired

I wrote this very strange entry in the notepad function on my iphone. I think it deserves its own post. It's dense, and offers no real conclusions.

Sometimes I wonder if perhaps my window isn't actually a window, but is instead a canvas. It does not show me the world as it is beyond the glass, but rather a twilight treescape, an unchanging drawing from the head of a person who knows what should be out there, but who has no originality. I am in a room that shows me illusions of the outside world, and I can't tell if my canvas windows reveal the world or hide it.

(image from: http://farm2.staticflickr.com/1393/1414205324_a5642d31ea_z.jpg)

The longer I live, the less this question seems to matter. I can only perceive what the window lets in, and though the window's conveyance may be true, my own perception, with all its biases, assumptions, and other complexities will inevitably distort my perception, to the point where what I see is never what's really there. It's a disconcerting thought, to realize that my own senses could be so unreliable as to be unable to accurately represent even a simple view from a window, contrived though it may be.

Suppose then that my windows truly are only canvas stretched over my walls. They could be remarkably detailed representations of the outside, exact replicas, in fact, but despite all appearances, they are not actually made from panes of glass. Imagine yourself in this room; do you feel trapped, knowing that the windows are fake? Would you feel more trapped, the truer the image became? Would a child's drawing of a single tree on a  background convey the same feeling of quiet discomfort as being in a room with the more accurate recreations?

Or would you prefer no windows at all, just four, blank, white walls if given the choice? Is a simulated world, a fake but very detailed world, better than a real but drab one? And what if that simulation approaches reality to such an extent as for the two to be indistinguishable? I have another kind of window, one that seems to convey the world with near perfect fidelity. The television engages my sight and my hearing, two of the most important senses for engaging with the world. It seems unnecessary to support the claim that sometimes we prefer illusion to reality, much as some may reflexively deny it. Yet, I think I would give up TV for all time, if the alternative were to never again be allowed to gaze out my window on the quiet, mundane, occasionally tragic, but very real world beyond it.